Heart of a Lion
by Fire The Canon
Summary: After a Quidditch accident, George is determined to never play again. Only one man can help him over come his fear. Dumbledore. Written for "Ten" Challenge and Competition. AU. Please R&R.
1. Chapter 1

_**Note: I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters. **_

_**This was written for the "Ten" Challenge and Competition by Quintessential Dreams. I had the characters Dumbledore and George Weasley with the prompts: **__Ditch, Quidditch, Lion, Sovereign, Conundrum, Jealous, Pink, Languid, Almond, Agoraphobia._

_**Something I learnt from writing this is I cannot for the life of me write short fics. This is a chaptered fic and I will be putting one to two chapters up each day. Please review and give me your opinion :) **_

**Chapter One**

"This is too important for us to lose!" Oliver Wood bellowed at the Gryffindor Quidditch team. "We must win; we must beat Slytherin! Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir!" George said, saluting the captain mockingly. "Beat Slytherin, win. Got it," he gave the him a wink and then returned to his seat beside his twin brother, Fred.

Oliver Wood was always carrying on about how they must win, they must beat Slytherin, they must beat Hufflepuff. George had learnt to ignore it. How could they possibly lose, when Harry Potter was their Seeker? He was the best Gryffindor had had since Charlie Weasley (his own brother).

"You worry too much, Wood," Fred said. "When has Harry ever lost us a match?...that is, when has Harry ever lost us a match when he hasn't fallen off his broom, or been chased by Dementors?" he added quickly before Wood could argue.

George, along with the rest of the team, slipped in to his Quidditch robes and left the change room. This was going to be easy. Harry would have the Snitch in half an hour at the latest.

They marched towards the Quidditch pitch, Wood still barking instructions at them, but no one was listening. Each had their own mental plan, determining which way they were going to fly, who they were going to knock with a Bludger first, or how fast the Snitch was going to be.

_Malfoy_, George thought, a grin forming on his face, _get Malfoy out of the way and the game's ours!_

They stepped on to the pitch to loud cheers from the Gryffindors and loud boos from the Slytherins. Did anyone doubt they could lose this?

The captains shook hands and then Madam Hooch blew her whistle. George kicked off from the ground, clutching his Beater in his hands. Katie Bell already had the Quaffle and was zooming to their end. She dodged one Bludger and two Slytherin Chasers to reach the goal posts and score. Ten-zero to Gryffindor.

George watched as Fred directed a Bludger straight at Malfoy's head, missing him by half an inch. A smirk appeared across his face.

_Git_, George thought. _I'll wipe that smile off your face. _He saw the other Bludger coming in his direction. Positioning himself so he could get a good hit, he swung his bat has hard as he could in the direction of Malfoy.

As focused as he was on getting Malfoy, George didn't realise one of the Slytherin Beaters coming towards him. Both swung at the same time and the Slytherin won out, slamming the Bludger right into George's face.

He heard a crack and then a falling sensation came over him. In the impact, he had fallen off his broom.

This was it. He was sixty feet in the air, a Bludger to his face and his wand stashed somewhere in his robes. This was how he was going to die. He was going to fall to his death at a school Quidditch match. Wood was going to be pissed.

OOO

There was a loud _crack_ and George's eyes snapped open. He was facing something white...no, now there was a face there too. They were peering down at him through half-moon spectacles. He knew that face, but it wasn't the one he expected to see just after he died.

"P-Professor Dumbledore?" he stuttered. Why wasn't his mouth working properly?

"Good evening, Mr Weasley," Dumbledore answered, his voice cheerful and unconcerned. "How are you feeling?"

George's hand went to his face. He remembered now. One of the Slytherin Beaters had slammed a Bludger in to his face.

"Don't worry, Madam Pomfrey has mended your face. It was a right mess, too. Blood everywhere...broken bones..." Dumbledore's voice became distant and his face vanished from George's sight.

"Did-did Gryffindor win?" George asked the Headmaster. What was Wood going to say if they had lost?

"Yes, yes, Harry caught the Snitch just as you fell off your broom," Dumbledore answered absently. It sounded as if he was now standing by the window of the hospital wing. "But you shouldn't be worrying about that right now, Mr Weasley."

George tried to sit up, but firm hands pushed him back on to the bed. "Your brothers and sister have been very worried about you," Dumbledore told him. "Should I let them in?"

"Er...okay." His head was a mess. How long had he been lying here for?

Before that question could be answered, four new faces appeared in front of him, each supporting fiery red hair.

"Just as ugly as ever," Fred said, sitting on his right. "You gave yourself a good whack, you know," he added.

George wasn't sure, as his vision was still a bit hazy, but he swore he saw Fred smile.

"Myself?" he questioned.

"Yeah, it was kind of odd," Ron piped in. "For a long while, it looked like you were going for the Bludger, but then it kind of turned around and you hit yourself instead."

"I thought the Slytherin did it!" George exclaimed. How had he managed to hit himself? Never, for as long as he had been playing Quidditch, had he ever hit himself before. It was virtually impossible.

"No, it was definitely you," Fred said. "We all saw it. You did it to annoy Wood, didn't you? He was so determined to win, you thought you would cause a few disruptions? I'm proud of you, bro. Never would have had the guts to do that myself, though."

"I would never-" George began. It was all so confusing. He would never risk a match like that; not when Draco Malfoy was involved.

"Anyway, the Slytherins thought it was hilarious," Ron said. "You should have heard them carrying on. Thought they would be more upset considering Harry won us the game."

George felt his face flush red from embarrassment. The last thing he wanted was to be the source of the Slytherin's glee.

"I think you should give your brother some time to rest," there was Dumbledore again. "Back to your common room, if you will."

"Bye, George," he felt Ginny kiss his cheek.

"We'll see you tomorrow," Fred said, then leaning closer so Dumbledore wouldn't hear, "I'll ditch Potions to come and see you."

Then there was silence.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Note: I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters. **_

_**Reviews are very much appreciated!**_

**Chapter Two**

By the time morning came around, George was feeling much better. His face was fully mended and he wasn't as tired as he had been the night before. But the humiliation of hitting himself with his own bat was still looming.

How was he ever going to face people again? George Weasley, one of the best Beaters in the school had managed to miss everything but his own face. It was embarrassing and he was considering withdrawing from the Quidditch team. There was no way he could get up there and face the school again.

"You may go," Madam Pomfrey said after finding no more reasons to keep him in bed. "I have spoken to Professor Dumbledore. There is no need for you to attend any lessons today. Go back to your common room and rest up."

George gave a half hearted smile and then left in the direction of the Gryffindor common room. He was only just out the door of the hospital wing when Dumbledore appeared.

"Ah, it is good to see you up and about," he said kindly. "Your brother will be disappointed, though. I really think he was looking forward to-what was the word he used?-'ditch Potions'."

George didn't say anything. Nothing escaped Dumbledore.

"Oliver Wood has been very worried," Dumbledore began to walk beside him. "He thinks he will have to find a new Beater, but I assured him he need not worry. Your face looks just like it used to. Madam Pomfrey is a very capable witch."

Instinctively, George's hand moved to his face. He felt for anything out of place, but it really did seem that it had been fully mended.

"That is, of course, if you wish to play again. I know what teenagers are like. They find the minor things embarrassing. It could have happened to anyone."

_But it happened to me, _George thought.

"I...er...I will see," he confessed. For now, there was nothing he wanted more than to go and bury himself somewhere far, far away.

"Hmm...I wouldn't think a Gryffindor would have to think about getting back up on that broom and giving it another crack," Dumbledore continued, not hearing the hesitation in George's voice. "The Sorting Hat placed you in Gryffindor, because of your bravery, did it not? Godric Gryffindor's symbol is a lion, is it not? Lions are brave, are they not?"

George had no answer for that. Did Dumbledore suspect what he was thinking? Did he know that right now, he was feeling anything but brave? Besides, his way of wording things sometimes left the brain more confused.

"The next training session will be tomorrow night, seven PM. I hope you will be there. Good day, Mr Weasley," with another kind smile, Dumbledore turned a corner and vanished from sight.

George, now more confused than before, walked the rest of the distance to the common room at speed and climbed through the portrait hole. He was greeted by a loud cheer. He _had_ to get back during one of the breaks, didn't he?

Normally, a cheerful welcome would have lifted his mood, but not today. He felt his chest tighten at the sight of everyone. They had all seen what had happened. They had all seen the Beater miss the Bludger, miss the Slytherin and slam right in to his own face.

They were probably laughing at him, not cheering his return.

"It's good to have you back, George," Wood said. "I'm not sure what we would have done if you hadn't been fixed," he looked George up and down, as if he was double checking nothing was wrong.

"I'm fine," George mumbled, brushing past and heading to the stairs which led to the dormitories. All he wanted was some peace and quiet.

Once he was safely inside, he collapsed on to his bed. His heart was hammering against his chest. It was like he was...afraid.

But afraid of what? Other students? He was George Weasley; he lived for attention. Shouldn't he have been laughing about what had happened? If it had been anyone else, he was certain he and Fred would be sitting in a corner, reliving every moment in detail. But, Dumbledore had been spot on. He didn't feel brave. He was afraid.

Rolling over, George pulled a pillow over his head to block out any potential noise and fell asleep. He slept until the morning, dreaming of falling off his broom over and over again. He woke in a sweat. There was no way he could ever play Quidditch again.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Note: I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters. **_

_**Reviews are very much appreciated!**_

**Chapter Three**

Taking in a big gulp of fresh air, George clutched his broom. He could hear the voices coming from the Quidditch pitch, causing his whole body to shake. He had spent weeks watching his team train from the sideline; watching them learn new moves, with the new Beater, Seamus Finnegan. Seamus was nothing compared to him, he knew that, but he just couldn't get himself back out there.

Ever since the accident, his life had been made hell (from the Slytherins more than anyone else). Every corridor he walked through, whispers would follow. It seemed no one remembered him now because he was George Weasley, but they remembered him as the "guy who hit himself with his own Beater". It was humiliating and he had taken to going the long way around to his classes, just to avoid the crowd.

But after Oliver Wood had _begged_ George to come back, he felt he had no choice. Seamus Finnegan was useless and Wood was desperate to win.

So there he stood, dressed in his robes, ready to step out on to the Qudditch pitch.

Fred put a comforting hand on his shoulder, grinning from ear to ear. "You'll be fine, bro," he said.

George nodded, but didn't reply.

As they got closer to the pitch, the voices got louder. He thought he heard some funny chant going on, but he wasn't sure. The voices were deafening. In a matter of seconds, he would step out on to that pitch and the whole crowd would see George Weasley, the coward.

Fred gave him another reassuring smile and then took off, out on to the pitch. George followed, a lot less enthusiastically. The sun was bright and it took a few moments for his eyes to adjust. He saw the Gryffindors, cheering and calling out.

Then there were the Hufflepuffs, also cheering their team on. But it was the Slytherins that angered him. Some were wearing their normal green, but others were dressed in the brightest yellow, to show their support for Hufflepuff.

More were holding up posters of...

"Don't worry about them, mate!" Fred called, also seeing the posters. "They're still dirty on the fact we beat them."

Hand drawn pictures of George clubbing himself with the bat were all he saw. He ignored the cheers and the support he was getting from his fellow Gryffindors and bolted. He couldn't play, not when everyone was expecting him to do exactly the same thing again. Seamus Finnegan would have to do. It was only Hufflepuff, really. They weren't that hard to beat.

He ran all the way back to the change room, clutching his chest. He felt as if he couldn't breathe. Facing the school so soon was too much for him. They saw him as a joke.

Throwing his broom on to the ground, he put his face in his hands, shaking from anger and humiliation. He barely noticed the comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Come with me," said a kind voice.

George looked up. It was Dumbledore. Why was he always there when something happened? Why did he care so much?

He followed, anyway. Dumbledore led him all the way to his office, neither of them speaking a word. They ascended the spiral staircase and entered the headmaster's office. George had only ever been in there twice before and neither had been because of a social visit. Where had the fearless, I-don't-care-about-the-rules George gone?

"Sit," Dumbledore said, his smile not fading.

George obeyed. For some reason, the headmaster's presence calmed him.

"What happened out there?" Dumbledore asked.

George shook his head. "I-I don't know," he answered truthfully. "The crowd...the students..."

Dumbledore nodded. "It seems to me you have developed a case of Agoraphobia since the last Quidditch match," he said.

"Agora-what?" George questioned. Dumbledore was always using big words, no one but he understood.

"Agoraphobia," Dumbledore repeated. "A fear of crowds, or being in public places."

George was dumbstruck. That was what it was. Agoraphobia. He was scared to be in a public place, where everyone could see him.

"I have noticed you have been avoiding the corridors lately, keeping to the common room at night. Don't get me wrong, Mr Weasley, I am pleased to see you keeping out of trouble, but it is also very unlike you. You and your brother highly enjoy being the centre of attention."

"How do I get rid of it?" George blurted out without thinking. He didn't want to feel like this anymore.

"By facing your fear," Dumbledore answered bluntly. "We will start with working out the reason as to _why_ you are so afraid of facing people. Why is that, Mr Weasley?"

George opened his mouth to answer, but no sound came out. What was Dumbledore doing, asking him such a difficult question? _Never_, had he ever been afraid to be around people until now. It was not natural for him. Dumbledore had said it himself; he liked being the centre of attention.

"From what I can assume, it all began after that Quidditch match against Slytherin," Dumbledore spoke before George could find an answer. "It was a simple mistake which anyone could have made, yet you seem to think it was a big deal."

George nodded slowly. It was a big deal. Younger students admired him; they looked up to him. What were they thinking after they had seen that?

"Sir, I don't mean to be rude, but why do you care so much?" it was a question which had been playing on his mind for a while now. Wherever he was, Dumbledore was there, too. The headmaster had never given him that much attention before.

Dumbledore glanced over his half-moon spectacles, as if contemplating an answer. He then folded his hands and gave a small smile. "Because," he began, "I have suffered the same thing. Humiliation in front of the school. I know what it feels like to embarrass yourself in front of everyone, but you must learn that it is not the end of the world. You may be a good Beater, Mr Weasley, but you are not perfect at it. You can afford one simple mistake every now and then."

_Dumbledore? Agoraphobia? No way!_

"I have been watching you lately," Dumbledore continued. "Not only have you become less enthusiastic with breaking rules, you have also become..._languid_ in your school work, as well as your overall manner. It is very unlike you and (please don't let me regret saying this) I wish to see you back to normal. Now-" he got to his feet and opened the office door, "-please head back to the common room. I daresay your absence from the Quidditch pitch will have cost Gryffindor the match."

George climbed to his own feet, a solemn expression on his face. He didn't want to leave the peace and quiet of Dumbledore's office. He wanted to stay away from the crowd, from the students. He didn't want to face anyone right now.

But the headmaster had a very stern expression on his face, which brought George to the door and down the spiral staircase. He heard a soft _click_, letting him know Dumbledore had shut him out.

What was happening to him? Why was it so hard to just get back out there, ignore everyone and play Quidditch again? A lot of people had had worse injuries than him. Some had even died.

_But none have collected them self with their own bat_, he thought gravely.

As Dumbledore had suspected, the castle was growing louder with voices. Students were returning from the disappointing Quidditch match. He wondered whether they had even played, or Wood had stormed from the pitch in fury. Gryffindor were not going to win the Cup now...

"Oh, look who it is, the Cowardly Lion," a sneering voice called behind him.

George felt his face redden. Whispers were starting to pass him, as other students stopped and stared.

Quickening his pace, George moved hurriedly through the corridors until he was through the portrait hole and in the safety of the empty common room.

_This is ridiculous_, he thought. _Even passing people in the corridors is terrifying_.

He was quietly thinking of the old days, where he and Fred would roam the corridors, hexing unsuspecting students or teachers just for a laugh, when someone came to sit beside him. He jumped slightly at their presence, but relaxed when he realised it was only Fred. He hadn't been afraid of anyone back then. In fact, he had never been _afraid,_ before.

"If you haven't quit, Wood will have you off the team," Fred said, a slight hint of humour in his voice. "Chucked a tantrum on the pitch, you know. Tried to get Madam Hooch to postpone the match, but she insisted Gryffindor had to withdraw formally. Oh well, I guess that's another year we won't win," he sighed.

"Sorry," George mumbled.

"Oh, and Angelina Johnson told me to give you this," Fred continued, placing a bunch of pink roses on front of him. With a mischievous smile, he said, "Conjured them up herself, you know. Wants you to know she is thinking of you."

George's face reddened again and he stashed them away from sight. His reputation would sink even lower if someone caught him with a bunch of flowers.

With another mischievous smile, Fred left the common room, singing a 'George and Angelina' chant under his breath.

Slowly, more and more Gryffindors began to pile in. Some gave him sympathetic or worried looks, while others had the look of contempt on their faces. He had cost Gryffindor the Quiddditch Cup...just when they were sure to win.

Sighing heavily, George climbed the stairs to his dormitory, where he locked himself in for the remainder of the day.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Note: I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters. **_

_**Reviews are very much appreciated!**_

**Chapter Four**

Weeks passed and still nothing happened to decrease George's irrational fear of people. He now relied on Fred, or Lee Jordan to bring him homework. He refused to attend classes, choosing to either stay locked up in the dormitory, or if on occasion, see Dumbledore.

Surprisingly, the headmaster had become a great comfort to him. He seemed to understand exactly how he was feeling and together, they were trying to find ways to overcome his fear.

Today, in fact, was one of his visits to Dumbledore's office. They sat on opposite sides of the desk, Dumbledore's Pensieve in between them.

"I find it comes in very handy when you need to get your thoughts in order," he said to George kindly.

"I've never heard of or seen one before," George answered truthfully.

"Yes, they are very rare. I was very fortunate to come across it, in fact. It was many years ago, I was a lot younger and a lot-" he stopped abruptly, realising he was getting off topic.

"How does it work?" George then questioned.

"Ah," Dumbledore seemed delighted by this question. "See that blue stuff in there?" he asked. "They are all my thoughts and memories. I find I sometimes have too many things to think about at once, so I just put them in here and I can come back to them whenever I need to."

George was impressed. Right now, he wished he had a Pensieve.

"I thought we could use it today, to understand why the sudden Agoraphobia," Dumbledore continued.

George opened his mouth to speak, but Dumbledore cut him off. Didn't they know why?

"Yes, I know it all began after that Quidditch incident, but perhaps if we take a closer look, we might be able to notice something different; something neither of us saw before."

George felt slightly overwhelmed by the interest Dumbledore was showing. Would he have taken so much time for any other student?

_It's because he understands_, he told himself.

Dumbledore showed George how to extract the memory. He did it reluctantly, not really wanting to relive the embarrassment, and placed the thread of white light in to the Pensieve. The headmaster gave it a swirl and then dived head first in to it.

Slightly nervous, George followed suit and he found himself standing in the middle of the Qudditch pitch. Looking around, he saw that the school was there, just like they had been on that day. In fact, everything was exactly the same.

A Bludger flew straight towards him and instinctively, George jumped out of the way.

"No one can see or hear us," Dumbledore told him. "This is simply your memory," he looked up to where there were fourteen people on brooms. Seven were in red and gold for Gryffindor and the other seven were dressed in silver and green-Slytherin.

_This is weird_, George thought, following Dumbledore's gaze. He spotted himself in the air. He seemed normal, a grin on his face, laughing, smiling. This had started off as just an ordinary Quidditch match. How many times before this had he taken to the air, without a care in the world?

They watched from the ground as the match continued. George watched himself, trying to determine when and how the incident had happened. Part of him felt jealous...no...envious of his former self. He wanted to be able to play like that again. He wanted to be brave...like a lion.

Then he saw the Bludger. It was flying right towards the George in the air. The George on the ground watched as he braced himself, getting ready to aim it straight at Draco Malfoy. He watched intently, trying to see how he had managed to hit himself. He swung the Beater, the Slytherin Beater closing in on him and then _whack! _The bat had made a funny manoeuvre in his hands and he had lost control completely. No one seemed to notice that the bat had done it on its own accord.

Gasping, George got a moment's glance in the direction of Malfoy. He had his wand out. It had been Malfoy! Malfoy had used magic.

"Lets go back," Dumbledore said quietly, grasping his shoulder. George felt his feet leave the pitch just as the memory George fell from his broom, blood spraying everywhere.

They landed gently back in Dumbledore's office. For a moment, George didn't say anything; he just stood, glued to the spot.

"Sit, please," Dumbledore told him.

George obeyed without thinking, taking the same seat he had occupied just moments before.

"Nut?" the headmaster offered, moving a bowl of funny shaped nuts in front of him. "Almonds," he added, after George's puzzled look. "Muggle food. I find them quite delicious," he picked a handful up for himself.

"So, you see, Mr Weasley, your accident was caused by foul play from another student-which I will be having words with Mr Malfoy about. It had nothing to do with your inability to play. You and your brother are two of the best Beaters this school has seen in a very long time."

George gave a weak smile. Sure, he now knew it wasn't his fault, but the rest of the school still seemed to think he was useless.

"Ah," Dumbledore began, as if reading his mind. "It all happened in such a blur. Harry Potter had just caught the Snitch and then the next moment, it appeared you had miss hit the Bludger and hit yourself instead. I guess no one was really watching what anyone else was doing."

"I bet Malfoy was really pissed that Harry beat him again, so decided to take it out on something," George muttered furiously.

"Although I will not choose your choice of words, I will agree that he was not happy. Harry Potter once again stole the spotlight from young Draco."

"So how do we convince the school I didn't do myself in?" George asked suddenly.

Dumbledore chuckled slightly before answering. "I don't think we need to convince the school of anything," he said. "Does it really matter what they think, when you now know the truth? The next Quidditch match is in six weeks. Until then, train hard, practice and then get out there and play like you normally do. As long as you believe you can do it, so will everyone else."

George sighed. Maybe it wasn't going to be that easy.

Again, Dumbledore seemed to know what he was thinking. "I believe that if you face your fear, you will overcome it. Your fear is facing the other students, because you think you made a fool of yourself and do not wish to repeat it. But if you have confidence in yourself, you will not suffer the same embarrassment."

George nodded slowly. Dumbledore would sometimes speak a conundrum of words, but if you thought about it carefully, he actually made a lot of sense. He needed to believe in himself to be able to overcome his fear.

"Remember, Mr Weasley, one of the reasons you were placed in Gryffindor was because of your bravery. If anyone can overcome a challenge, it is you."

OOO

The final Quidditch match of the season was just moments away. It was between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. Ravenclaw had annihilated Slytherin, so all Gryffindor had to do was win by more than fifty points.

_Easy_, George thought, a grin forming on his face. They had been practicing new moves for the past month or so. They had a plan. All Harry needed to do was catch the Snitch and it was theirs.

Oliver Wood was barking orders at the team, making sure it was drilled in to them. George, however, was not listening.

He knew what he had to do and it wasn't what Wood was telling him. All he had to do was play with confidence and everything would be fine. Then, the whispers would stop following him in the corridors.

If he had a helping hand in winning this match, he would be the hero again. His reputation would be restored and the younger ones would consider him to be their leader; their sovereign-their king. George Weasley would be back!

_But what if Malfoy tries another trick like before?_ A tiny voice in his head asked.

_Then you will send him to the hospital wing with a black eye and broken leg_, another voice answered.

"You got that George?"

George came back to reality. Oliver Wood was speaking to him.

"What?" he asked. Beside him, Katie Bell rolled her eyes.

"You and Fred are to target the Chasers," Wood said with a sigh.

George nodded, winking at Fred. They could manage three Ravenclaw Chasers.

"Good, because the less points scored, the sooner this can be over."

"So you have said five times in the last minute," Fred complained. He was levitating his bat in the air, showing all signs of boredom.

Oliver Wood gave him a scathing look and then went back to lecturing the team. Once he was happy that everyone knew what they were supposed to do, he instructed them to get ready.

Like he had done so many times before, George pulled on his red and gold robes and picked up his broom. It was now or never. If he was going to prove to the school he wasn't a useless Beater, it was going to be in the final and he was going to do it in front of everyone. He was going to face his fear.

His heart fluttered slightly as the voices grew louder, but he forced himself to stay calm. There was nothing to be afraid of.

He was a Gryffindor. He was brave. He had the heart of a lion.

_**The End. I hope you all enjoyed this fic. I managed to use all ten prompts, which I was very happy about. At first, I never thought I would be able to do it. **_

_**Please review if you are going to favourite. It is very much appreciated!**_


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